


In the Age of Gold

by eldritcher



Series: The Journal of Fingolfin [14]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:42:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4002787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aredhel is a bit of an Oscar Wilde, loving and living passionately. Her family doesn't quite get it, but they are family and she knows they will be there for her, all of them, except for the idiot she chose to fall in love with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Age of Gold

The story is set in Nan Elmoth, with Aredhel telling a young Maeglin about the story of her love. Putting her heart into words awakens in her the desire to see Celegorm once again. Aided by her son, she travels to him. 

Warnings: Heterosexual content, homosexual content, character death, graphic violence, cheesy lines, teenage drama, philosophers, plot twists, hunters, heretics and one mad family. 

 

Names:

1\. Tyelko – Celegorm  
2\. Irissë – Aredhel  
3\. Artanis - Galadriel  
4\. Telpë – Celebrimbor  
5\. Itarillë – Idril  
6\. Carnilótë – Maglor’s wife, daughter of a noble at Fingolfin’s court of Barad Eithel.  
7\. Lómion – Maeglin. 

The story is rated R. Though the story is about Celegorm and Aredhel, there are references to other pairings, some of which are homosexual in nature. I recommend reading the general Sunset arc warning list, just in case.

 

Chapter One

 

 

 

Nan Elmoth.

 

“Tell me another story, mother,” he said, coming to sit by my side, taking my hands in his own.

He had grown, into a young, sensitive lad. In him, I could see Turkáno and my father. In my dreams, I would see someone else in my son’s aristocratic features; someone who was not Eöl of Nan Elmoth.

“I have told you all the tales I know, Lómion.” I compared our fingers. His were callused already by the work he did to aid his father in the forge. Mine remained as smooth and unblemished as they had been long ago, under the golden light of Laurelin. 

“There must be something more,” he insisted, a note of pleading inserted into his tone, which swayed my reluctance to relive my past. It was the only entertainment the lad had, to hear my tales. Though my memories were brought with the pain of remembrance, if they succeeded in bringing him joy, thus be it.

“What shall you have?” I asked him. “Shall it be how Findekáno rescued Maitimo from the land of dark fire?”

“No,” he shook his head, “you have told me that tale many times. Tell me something about your life of old, mother. You never do.”

I had never told him a tale about my life, for manifold reasons. I looked up at the dark branches concealing us from the sun, their canopy oppressive and frightening. How many days had I wandered through the woods, within the limits Eöl had set me, craving to catch a glimpse of the golden sun? But the land obeyed my keeper, and it allowed me no peep at the light and warmth of the day. 

Sitting with my son, in the hushed copse of trees, I was seized by regret and sadness so overwhelming that I nearly cried. But I did not cry. I never cried, for I was Aredhel Ar-Feiniel. A sigh escaped my misery though.

“Mother?” He was on his knees before me the next instant, his dear features twisted by worry. “What is wrong?”

I shook my head. He wanted a tale; he wanted my tale. Then he would hear it. I motioned him to be seated beside me and wound our fingers together. Taking reassurance from the warmth of his hands as they clasped mine, I began the story of my life.

 

Helcaraxë.

 

 

“In the age of gold, youth and maiden bright,  
Naked in the sunny beams delight.”

 

Elenwë was singing in her sweet, low voice, encouraging her young daughter to sing along with her. 

“Don’t you have anything else to sing about?” I asked my sister-by-law, disgruntled that she would sing about gold and warmth while on the Helcaraxë. I would have been inclined to sing one of Macalaurë’s philosophy-soaked compositions. 

Elenwë smiled brightly at me, a spot of Laurelin on the cold Ice, before gaily dancing her way to grim Turkáno, who accepted her fussing and carousing with good grace. 

“Irissë,” Findaráto took my arm. “You must eat something, cousin. Pining for-”

“I am not pining for anyone,” I cut in before he could complete the sentence. To stall his next argument, I put on my fiercest scowl. Stranded shivering on the Ice, forced to watch the damn ships burn, exiled from my home, hands stained with blood and grief for my grandfather weighing down my spirits, the last thing my pride would allow me to do was to admit that I pined for him.

“He may have had nothing to do with it,” Artanis said as she came to my side and wrapped her cloak over my shivering form. It had been Macalaurë’s. He had given it to her before boarding the ships. 

“I don’t want it.” I wriggled out of the fine cloak and shoved it back at her.

She clucked before saying, “You need it more than I do, Irissë. Take it.” I gave in with ill-grace. She was right. Anyway my quarrel was not with a cloak. 

“Don’t theorize without facts,” she said briskly. “We still don’t know what happened on the other side.”

“He is his father’s son,” I retorted. “I know he would set fire to his own hair if Fëanáro asked.”

“That is quite enough!” 

Artanis looped her arm in mine and marched me on. Before I could disagree, she began singing a hunting lay with such infectious enthusiasm that I had no recourse but to join her in the song. Our bedraggled, sorry people hearkened to our clear voices with such hope kindled on their faces that I forgot all about my personal grief and poured myself into the song.

Elenwë fell. Seeing my niece’s horror and Turkáno’s pain, I vowed that I would never forgive him. If ever I see him again, I shall have him impaled on a nicely sharpened spear. 

Findekáno and Artanis led us onward; his courage and her determination brought us to the lands Fëanáro had spoken so eloquently of.

 

When I saw him, I did not run to fetch a spear. I merely stood rooted where I was, and listened in growing horror. ( Horror is an understatement. There exists no word to describe what I felt then.) His faltering words as he helped Atarinkë relate what had befallen them…He did not meet my eyes. He did not meet anybody’s eyes. That had never happened before. It was then that I realized things could never be renewed.

Our age of gold was past.

Finwë’s grandchildren have always revered the ties of blood. We forgave our cousins for the ships, as much as it was in us to forgive. The death of Fëanáro and the plight of his eldest healed our breach. Always a close-knit family, now we were brought closer by my father’s firm, loving manner. He arranged hunting and scouting expeditions so that his nephews and sons renewed their ribald companionships of better days. He succeeded, since the sons of Fëanáro looked up to the brother their father had loved above his own self. 

The strangest development was the unusual attachment that had been born between Turkáno and Atarinkë, something potent and unbearably heart-wrenching in its blossoming, of solace and acceptance found amidst parting and grief; of widowers and single-parents coming together to provide each other simple comfort. 

In its wake, it was singularly ironic that Tyelko and I were not even exchanging the barest of courtesies when we chanced to meet other. But my family feared my pride and temper. Not even Artanis found the courage to broach the matter with me.

My father built a mansion, modelling it heavily in the like of Formenos. Was it his unconscious homage to someone he had loved beyond the pale of reason? We did not ask him, for we must each make our own peace with fate, and if this was his chosen manner, who were we to naysay him?

Long days spent underneath the stars had hardened us and we preferred the open glades to the confines of the mansion. But Artanis and I were bundled into cosy, large chambers as opulently furnished as my father could manage with what possessions we had. Most of our cousins and brothers preferred to camp under the skies, only opting for tents in the colder weather. 

I would always leave my chamber door unlocked at nights, and sleep with a spear by my side.

 

Findekáno brought Maitimo to us. Both my father and Macalaurë stirred themselves out of their brooding to take up position by his sickbed. Between the bevy of cousins and brothers, I am sure that they did not allow him a moment’s privacy in those harsh days. I would often go in the afternoons and send Turkáno away to spend time with his young daughter while I kept vigil over Maitimo.

In the beginning, he was not lucid at all; his mind affected by the drugs and the pain. But he pulled through, as I had always known he would. He would often greet me with a wan smile and then lose himself to his thoughts, not bothering to acknowledge my questions or remarks. I would chatter on despite his silence, for I hated the oppressive quiet that pervaded the air.

“And all of us rushed into Atarinkë’s bedchamber, frightened by his screams. Findekáno forced the door open and we found Atarinkë and Turkáno standing by the window. They dismissed us briskly and were shutting the door behind us, when a howl came from Turkáno. Findekáno was alarmed and drew his sword before barging in. Atarinkë came to stand before Turkáno, his hands outstretched. Findaráto strode past them impatiently to see the cause of distress, before starting to laugh until he was crying. Then he proceeded to put to death the source of all the commotion, which turned out to be a little--”

“Spider!” Maitimo said, his grey eyes swirling in mirth as they met my shocked gaze.

“True,” I said. “Who told you?”

“Nobody. I merely happen to be aware of their fear of arachnids.” He gingerly rose into a sitting position. “You are the only gossip I have to endure, and am I grateful for that!”

“If you had asked me to stop,” I began hotly.

“But I love your gossip,” he laughed, his voice still hoarse from whatever purpose he had been forced to use it for.

I shifted from the chair to the bed and sat beside him, leaning my head against the ornate head of the cot. 

“You heard everything I chattered about and did not even see it fit to tell me you were listening. I could have expanded on some scenes.”

“I had forgotten our language for the most part,” he said frankly, sounding neither unhappy nor angry at admitting that. I sighed in incredulity. Only him…and perhaps Findaráto. “Your conversations helped me regain my vocabulary to a decent extent.”

“Flatterer,” I muttered, trying to quell the wave of fierce pride that I had helped him in some way.

“Tell me about your latest escapades with my brother. You have spoken of everything but that.”

“There is nothing to tell; there have been no escapades,” I said flatly. 

He should have dropped it then, heeding the warning note in my voice. But he has never resisted a debate in his life, and I knew he would pursue the subject to its bitter end. 

“You can tell me,” he said. “I am not biased.”

“Does my beauty not bias you?” 

He chuckled at my arrogance before saying, “In that case, I would not have allowed Tyelko to dog your shadow, instead taking up the pleasurable task myself.”

“Why didn’t you then?” 

“Ah! But that might earn me my lady’s scorn,” he teased me, throwing me the gauntlet for a battle of words. 

I rolled my eyes and gave in. If he wanted to spar with words, he would have to wait for my father or Artanis. I had better things to do. 

“The long and short of it is that he burnt the ships. We have not spoken since then. I await his appearance in my bedchamber so that I may impale him with a spear.”

Beside me, his arm brushed my own as he quivered silently, fighting off a bout of mirth at the expense of my words.

“I am serious!”

“Methinks the lady does protest too much,” he said jocularly. 

“Methinks the knight shall laugh less when his brother is impaled upon the lady’s spear,” I retorted.

“Don’t!” His eyes were sparkling pools of grey, reminding me of the silver clouds that had heralded rain last week, and of the thick coils of smoke that issued from our campfires. “It is a most uncomfortable business to be on the receiving end of a spear.”

I hastily changed the thread of discussion, for I feared where this would lead us to. 

 

He came to me that night, his distinctive knock waking me immediately. Maitimo must have spoken to him; the well-meaning idiot could never resist interfering. I sat up and watched as he closed the door behind him. He made to speak, but no words were given voice to. We stared at each other for an indeterminably long time, his black eyes shining lamps in the moon-lit darkness of my bedchamber.

I pushed aside the coverlet and rose to my feet, uncocooning my body from the warmth of the bed. He gasped and his fingers flew to his throat as if easing his breath. Before I could speak a word, he strode forward so that we were mere inches away from each other. His breath was hot and caressing as he brought shaking fingers to hover above my cheeks, tenacious in his resolution not to touch me. 

I bent down and exulted in the cry of desire that escaped him. But when I rose again, a spear weighing my hands, he gasped and drew back a step. 

“What is it?” he asked breathlessly, making as if to take away the weapon from me.

“For your deceit. You burned the ships, cursed dog,” I hissed. (I was very good at such endearments, the fallout of spending my time with my brothers and cousins.) “I swore upon all I believe in that I would impale you upon this spear, when we met again.”

“Iri-” he began. I twisted the spear so that its sharp end kissed his chest. He instinctively drew back a step. I pressed down upon him, my grip clammy on the metal I brandished. 

“Don’t speak my name. Not when you put me through the Ice,” I jerked the spear, earning a crimson trail of blood down his chest. He flinched and brought his fingers to feel the cut. I swatted them away and backed him to a wall. 

“It was never my intention that…” He waved his hands angrily in explanation, as if anything he said could ever explain away what he had done.

“I hate you,” I told him fervently. “I hate you more than I hate Moringotto.”

“And well-deserved shall it be,” he spoke brokenly, his eyes cast to the ground. “I am sorrier than I ever can say. But it shall not be enough.” 

“Tyelko-” I began softly, my rage undone by his hoarse, emotion-wracked words.

“No.” He shook his head firmly and began undoing his tunic, exposing the wound I had wrought on his flawless skin. His chest heaved with emotion and his muscles were strained. The fine frame that I worshipped shook under the onslaught of his tempestuous feelings and I wanted nothing more than being underneath his glorious body. (Artanis was right; I was ruled by carnality. I hold to the opinion that embracing passion freely is less guilty than embracing it furtively, cloaking it under intellectual conversations as she did.)

He stretched his hands and met my gaze, so that I was subjected to the full array of emotions loose in the peripheries of the dark oceans of his eyes. I stood transfixed, my hands trembling with the effort of holding up the spear, and he began speaking in a voice so moved and true that I knew I would forgive him even before I had understood what he spoke of. His words were hoarse and weighed down by a plethora of emotions, not the least of which was regret. The spear slid down onto the floor from my limp fingers and 

I threw my arms about his neck, sobbing my heart out onto his chest. I had not cried after hearing about my grandfather’s death, I had not cried when we had fled like fugitives, not when we had been stranded on the Ice and the memories of silken bodies twined from head to toe sufficed not at all to warm me, not when I had made it alive to the new land and saw him mourning his father.

But now I cried, and fisted my hands raining blows on his torso, willing him to know one-hundredth of the pain and the grief I had felt at his betrayal. Then I pressed wet kisses to his skin, seeking desperately to remove the traces of my violence, for I did not want him to suffer anything at all. He was here, he was whole and he was embracing me as if his life depended on it.

That was enough. 

 

“The Valar shall not be pleased with you,” he murmured quietly as we lay basking in the aftermath of quenched passion.

“They can rot,” I scoffed.

“Blasphemy,” he began concernedly, “shall not endear you to them.”

“Now that I have you, what do I need from them?”

I believed in my words. I was determined to recapture our age of gold. And being blessedly in love, I feared nothing. 

 

 

References: General meandering within The Sunset framework. “In The Age of Gold…Delight”, lines quoted from Blake’s ‘A Little Girl Lost’.

* * *

Upon the shores of Mithrim.

 

 

“Did you hear about your father’s latest folly?” Artanis asked me as we made our way to the stables.

“He allowed Maitimo to practice with the sword, I heard of that. I cannot call it a folly. Our cousin would recover faster if he was out and about doing something.”

“I was referring to the baths,” she said in that superior tone she had. It eerily echoed Macalaurë’s manner. No wonder they got along so well. 

“What baths? Tell me straight. I don’t have the patience for your perambulations, Artanis.”

“As if I didn’t know that!” She leant in closer, her body brushing mine in a suggestive manner. “I know you intimately, in case you have forgotten.”

“Make your peace with Macalaurë and stop flirting with me.” I drew away huffily. 

“Now that you have Tyelko again, you treat me so shabbily.” 

Her air of aggrieved virtue made me snicker. I knew her well. She was merely teasing me. The Ice had forced us to become carnally intimate; drowning our fears in pleasure. But neither of us had felt compelled to continue it after reaching these lands. Still, being Artanis, she could not resist teasingly reminding me of our encounter every now and then. 

“What were you going to tell me about the baths?” 

“Hot baths, water directed from those springs. Nolofinwë says that the water has medicinal properties. He wants us all to come there at nights; he said something about the need to bring about greater unity amongst us.”

“I wouldn’t mind bathing with Tyelko,” I said happily. 

“Having dumped all those fluids into the streams of Valinor for decades, now you wish to initiate the waters of this land too?”

“Away with you,” I said peaceably, too happy to be offended by her sarcasm. “Intolerable woman.”

 

The baths were built in a large rectangular chamber. There was no roof and the night sky formed a splendid canopy of stars. Father had succeeded in diverting the flow of those strange, hot springs and the pools were filled with water. 

“It is splendid,” Tyelko said as he joined me. “I have never seen anything like this before.”

“Do you refer to the baths, or do you refer to me?” I preened before him, delighting in the sparkle of desire that shone in his dark eyes.

“He refers to the baths, of course. Hasn’t he seen you many, many times before?” Findaráto remarked caustically. 

I pretended not to hear him. Very tempted was I to remind him about Amarië, but it wouldn’t have been fair. He might not know the principles of chivalry. But I was determined to behave graciously (It is boring to behave graciously. But for my poor father’s sake, I did bear the torment more often than I would have liked.) So I settled for watching as he stripped with the élan of a professional courtesan and dove into the pool.

“Don’t stare at him.” Tyelko turned me to face him. 

“Give me something else to stare at,” I told him solemnly. 

My father and Findekáno arrived, arguing about some thrall they had recently captured. Turkáno and Atarinkë came in together, their voices low and serious. So engrossed were they by each other that they did not even pause to offer us greetings. I sat down on the edge of the pool and raising my gown, dipped my legs into the warm water. Tyelko followed suit and soon, we were twining our legs under the surface of the water; a very pleasant thing to do. His toes were tickling the underside of my feet, making me giggle softly.

“Wantons!” Artanis proclaimed as she entered the chamber. Before I could retort, she had made her way to my father, who was inspecting the drainage mechanism and I sighed as they began a long discussion on the merits of plumbing. 

“Why can’t she bath in a bath chamber? She loves the sound of her voice,” I complained to Tyelko. 

Complaining about Artanis was one of my favourite things to do. For him, it was ranting about his father. Now that Fëanáro was dead, he would have nothing to complain about, would he? I suppressed a sigh. I still could not believe that my uncle would no longer rush into the chamber, clad in sooty breeches and tunic, distracted to the core as he sought my father, his voice raised excitedly as he described his latest discovery. 

“Swim with me?” Tyelko asked. 

“Undo my ties.” I presented my back to him. His fingers stroked my skin as he undid my laces, the deliberate patience he employed causing me to chafe. 

“Dear me, there are only seven knots, Tyelkormo.” Macalaurë’s arrogant voice made me want to kick his shin. I had done that rather too frequently in my younger days, always to the adulation of his brothers. 

“You would know that, of course, having been intimately acquainted with ladies’ gowns because of your doings with Artanis.” Carnistro joined us. 

Macalaurë did not reply. It was a low hit, since the rift between Artanis and Macalaurë had wounded them both immensely. I upturned my face to glower at Carnistro, who already looked regretful. Macalaurë turned on his heel and walked to the other side of the pool, where he proceeded to remove his robes with meticulous care (I hated his tidiness. Couldn’t he look grimy and disheveled for at least one day?) He executed one of his perfect dives (For someone who did not hunt and roam like the rest of us, he was remarkably talented with the physical pursuits. Artanis told me that he was very good in the bower too.) 

“I am done!” Tyelko proclaimed, as he succeeded in his task. 

I slipped out of my gown and leapt into the water, laughing as the warmth tickled my extremities. A solid, reassuring weight enveloped me an instant later, and I leant back against him, pressing against his pelvic bones, our flesh separated only by the thin material of my undergown and his loincloth.

“My father is brilliant,” I sighed in contentment. “I could stay like this all day along.”

“Race me to the other end,” he challenged. If there was something that excited me more than the prospect of carnal encounters with him, it was undoubtedly racing him. 

“Prepare to lose,” I told him. “I shall claim an excellent forfeit.” 

“I wouldn’t doubt that,” he said cheerily. 

We shot through the water, our sharp strokes unflawed and smooth. I knew that his skin would be glowing in the starlight. I knew from the sudden silence which had fallen that we were being gawked at. I reveled in the attention and made a point to languorously stretch my limbs to their fullest extent. 

“Showoff!” Artanis shouted.

I was. I loved being one. 

“By Oromë!” Tyelko said, as he gazed at me with awe in his black eyes. I took the opportunity to pull ahead. On foot, he was faster than me and I never stood a chance to win. But in water, my long limbs and natural fluidity of movement helped my cause. That he was staring at me so adoringly too propelled my urge to win. I had already planned the forfeit.

“I give up!” he called after me, his voice rather hoarse.

I stopped and made a smooth turn about, to the admiring whistles of my cousins. Tyelko hastily came up to cover me, possessiveness adorning those handsome features. 

I clutched his arms and placed my chin on his shoulder deliberately. He stiffened as I breathed in his ear the forfeit I wanted. 

“Depraved woman,” was his only answer.

“You like me all the more for that,” I retorted. 

“Very well then,” he sighed with a look of suffering, though the flush in his neck testified to the truth. 

I left him to mull over my demand and swam over to the edge. Father came forward to help me up.

“It is a pleasure to see you swim, you know,” he said simply. “You look so carefree and beautiful.”

“The greater pity that I missed it!” Maitimo’s voice broke the relaxed calm pervading the chamber. 

“Russandol,” Father began anxiously. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

“I wanted to see the baths,” my cousin said easily. “I have never seen hot water springs before.”

“Hot springs won’t disappear.” Macalaurë’s voice was tensed. He had thrown his robes on and now stood with his hair plastered on his face. Unfortunately, that did not detract an inch from the fear he inspired in us. He was scary when he was in a temper. (Artanis has always exhibited strange tastes.) He continued firmly, “I shall return you to your chamber.”

“I am not an object to be returned,” Maitimo said frostily. The pallor of his features seemed pronounced in the starlight. He must have been really in pain. 

“Russandol,” my uncle said gently. 

“Very well.” Maitimo rolled his eyes, though the set of his jaw told us what exactly he thought. “I shall return to my chamber.”

“I am coming with you.” Macalaurë hastened to his side. 

My father looked at me meaningfully. I understood. I nodded to Tyelko and quietly followed the brothers out of the bath. Macalaurë was still murmuring crossly. By the stiff set of Maitimo’s shoulders, I knew that an argument was lying in wait.

“Macalaurë, Maitimo,” I ran to join them. “I am coming.”

“It is not necessary,” Macalaurë said. 

“Let her come,” Maitimo opposed petulantly, his grey eyes shining in anger. 

 

We made our way to his chamber. Macalaurë would discreetly steady his brother whenever the latter’s steps faltered. Maitimo would shrug the helping hand off. Recovery was a hard thing. None of us knew what to do since Maitimo interpreted everything as pity and charity. He would suffer my father’s care and Macalaurë’s. He tried his best to be patient with Artanis and me (He was very gallant with women. I still remember his silent suffering as that loutish Vanyarin girl all but devoured him during a banquet with smouldering looks and wandering fingers.) Findaráto had a natural bedside manner that eased Maitimo. But with the rest, Maitimo’s poor nerves were sorely tried. 

“I can quite manage to get into the bed by myself,” Maitimo remarked. 

“I know you can,” Macalaurë said evenly. “But if you wouldn’t mind, I shall minister the liniment.”

“It is a waste of time.” Maitimo came close to a sigh as he sat on the edge of the bed. 

“It isn’t.” I sat by his side. “When I stabbed Tyelko with the spear, it gave him an ugly gash. The liniment helped heal that. He has nary a mark now.”

“You stabbed him?” Maitimo asked incredulously, his eyes wide in shock. 

“I swore I would, didn’t I?” I said testily. “Of course, I stabbed him hard and true with the spear.”

Maitimo looked torn between disbelief and admiration. Macalaurë shot me a grateful glance for the diversion and began untying the laces on his brother’s robes. I decided to chatter on. If that was distraction enough, maybe I could avert the argument between them. 

“Where?”

“On his chest,” I warmed to the subject. There was nothing I loved as much as regaling people with stories. “He was shocked.”

“I can imagine,” he chuckled. “I fear I had underestimated the danger you are!”

Macalaurë had succeeded in pooling the garment about the waist and was now preparing the liniment. I tried my best not to look upset on seeing those ugly, jagged scars that despoiled my cousin’s torso. Artanis would often tell me that I wore my heart on my face. I could not hide emotions. 

“But I am very glad to see that your actions brought about reconciliation without causing my brother permanent harm,” he continued speaking. 

“I like his chest,” I said conversationally. “How could I remain cross with him when his chest was bared?”

“Spare me the sordid details!” He screwed his eyes shut and unconsciously drew his legs to his chest, as if to shield it from my depraved eyes. “Really, Irissë!”

“It is intoxicating, stimulating,” I went on gleefully as I saw the flush warming his neck. 

“I am sure it is,” he breathed discomposedly, his eyes sparkling pools of silver. He flinched as Macalaurë’s hands began rubbing in the liniment over the scars on his skin. A frown settled on his brow as he held in his pain.

“Would you rather I left?” I asked him.

“Keep talking, Irissë,” he said quietly. “I love the sound of your voice.”

“I have nothing left to say,” I said woefully. “I am going to sing.”

“Please, do,” he replied, his features paling as the pain overrode his will.

I began singing, my voice trembling as I remembered Elenwë. She had loved to sing and dance. Often had I wondered what she saw in my brother; he was as musically inclined as a mule.

 

“Once a youthful pair,  
Filled with softest care,  
Met in the garden bright,  
Where the golden light,  
Had just removed the curtains of the night.”

 

I fell back onto the mattress and watched as Macalaurë hummed softly in accord with my song, his fingers busy with their task. Maitimo had closed his eyes and no longer resisted when hands guided him to rest his back against Macalaurë’s chest. There was something positively intangible in the air. When Macalaurë bent over and began stroking in the liniment on the raw, healing flesh of his brother’s chest with precise, experienced hands, a soft groan escaped Maitimo.

Then, I understood. Wide, startled grey eyes met my own in rising horror. I pushed myself up into a sitting position.

“I will do the rest,” I told Macalaurë briskly, who was still continuing his task blessedly ignorant of what had transpired. 

He raised a supercilious eyebrow, one of those gestures which would always make me wish that there were weapons within reach, and his fingers continued to rub in the liniment. Maitimo shot me a glance of pleading. 

“Artanis said she wanted to talk with you. She was upset.” I lied through my teeth. 

That achieved what nothing else had. Macalaurë paused and asked me, concern colouring his dark eyes, “What is the matter?”

“Something to do with you, I daresay,” I said airily. “She was crying.” 

Artanis would not forgive me soon. But it was worth the cause. Anyway, she would benefit from the lie. She missed Macalaurë so. He seemed equally upset by their voluntary separation. 

“Go to her, Macalaurë,” Maitimo urged. “Come and see me after that, please.”

“Very well then,” Macalaurë said, looking torn between concern for Artanis and his brother. “Irissë, can you?”

“Of course,” I waved him off. 

As he disappeared in a flurry of robes, Maitimo sighed and threw his head back on the mattress, closing his eyes as he did so. I wondered if I dared broach what I had noticed. He was reasonable, usually. But this was not a usual situation.

“You needn’t search for excuses to spare me.”

“What is there to worry about?” I rested my chin on my palms and looked down upon him. He looked thoroughly miserable. 

“I am depraved,” he muttered. “But all the same, thank you for being kind enough to lie for saving my reputation.”

‘Depraved’ was a word that he used ever too often since the return from Angband. I rubbed my chin and tried to think of something to say. 

“Artanis likes pain too,” I offered. His eyes shot open in horror. “There are a lot of people who do, Maitimo. You are hardly the first creation on earth to crave some spice in carnality.”

“Well,” he said severely, “I am bedridden and ill. If someone notices it, they shall call me mad. And I think I am mad.”

“Stop thinking such stupid things. Make some provision to get your needs tended to,” I yawned. “I can find someone appropriate, you know. I know all the men here.”

“What did you say?” he stared at me wide-eyed. 

I took pity on him. He looked rather close to running away. I took up the jar of liniment and began rubbing it on his skin, tactfully pretending not to notice his awkward shifting. 

“I wasn’t like this before,” he said, after an awfully long silence. 

My fingers stilled as I realized what he referred to. There was nothing I could say to help him come to terms with this. While his need was natural, the circumstances were not. 

“With time, you will recover,” I said finally. 

“Will I?” he asked wearily. “You have been kind, Irissë. But what if someone else notices this? My brothers would never forgive me if it happened while they are tending to me.”

He had a point. Carnistro would turn him over the coals or he might understand and sympathize. With him, it was hard to predict. Tyelko would not be very happy, I guessed. Even my father would not understand, for all the love that he bore his nephew. 

“Findekáno,” I whispered.

“What?” he looked up at me, perplexed. 

“Findekáno will keep your secret. His tastes are rather eccentric. He can help you,” I said quietly.

“Irissë! “The very idea!” 

He pinched his nose, looking very young and lost. It brought him an air of adorability that made me want to muss his hair thoroughly. 

“I mean it; it will be discreet, it will be safe,” I urged him. “Promise me that you shall discuss this with him. You cannot afford to be discovered by anyone else, especially your brothers. Findekáno is the ideal foil.” 

He did not reply, his eyes murky with turmoil. I knew my words had made an impression. I pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and withdrew, my heart thudding madly. I ran towards the woods, trying to compose myself. Maitimo had suffered so deeply and still continued to suffer. I had seen the madness lurking in his eyes. He needed to be anchored. If pain was the means, then pain let it be.

 

“Irissë, you scheming vixen, how dare you tell--” Artanis’s voice turned concerned. “What happened?”

“Oh, Artanis,” I turned to face her and gripped her shoulders. “I told him to seek Findekáno! I saw no other way out of his despair.”

She did not ask me more. Understanding shone in her clear, blue eyes. With a sigh, she embraced me and ran her fingers down my spine.

“Was I wrong to tell him that?” I whispered.

“Findekáno loves him. Maitimo can never reciprocate. At its worst, it will destroy them both,” Artanis said quietly.

“At the best,” I implored her.

“At the best, you will have saved Maitimo.”

My brother, I had betrayed him deeply. I clung to Artanis, wishing desperately that I had not told Maitimo what I had. But I loved him as deeply as I loved my brother. I had to save him.

“Findekáno will not harm him; what if someone else takes advantage of the vulnerability? You did the best by him, Irissë,” she said gently. I did not reply, torn as I was between guilt and fear.

“Look at the sky,” she nudged me. “A shooting star.”

I blinked back my tears and obeyed. There, across the black canopy studded with stars was flowing a trail of milky silver. 

“Make a wish,” she commanded in her most persuasive voice.

And I wished, most fervently. 

 

“Where were you?” Tyelko asked me as I slipped into my bedchamber. He had been waiting for me long, I realized, from the guttering candle that stood on the mantel.

“I was walking in the woods,” I said vaguely.

“Are you well?” he sat up and frowned at me.

I removed my garments and straddled him, earning a pained gasp of desire from him. His hands came to cup my bottom and his face was buried in the parting between my breasts. Musk pervaded the chamber and I sighed on inhaling the familiar scent. 

“The matter of the forfeit,” he began with relish, pausing in his task of feasting upon my nipples, something that never failed to send a shudder down my spine.

“I think I shall postpone it,” I gasped. 

“Why? What are you not telling me?”

“I want to do it under the sun,” I hastily added before he could take the interrogation to a higher level. 

He fell silent, obviously shocked by my brazenness. I leant in to kiss him and was simply relieved when his passion broke restraint. He led us through the carnal dance and I lost track of my thoughts. 

“I love you,” he said as we landed wrecked after the consummation of passion.

My brother loved Maitimo. I shuddered and turned to kiss Tyelko saying, “I love you more.” 

Clichéd, but true.

 

 

Nan Elmoth.

 

“Elenwë was fortunate to die early,” I said bitterly, craving to see but a glimpse of the sun that I was fated never to look upon again.

“Mother!” Lómion said, aghast. “Please don’t speak so.”

“I shouldn’t have-”, I broke off when I saw the wounded expression in his eyes. 

“I love you, I have never regretted you.” I cupped his cheeks and brought our foreheads together. His tears wet my fingers. 

He deserved better than this, for I was lying. Always have I regretted him. But he was my son and I would spare him all that I could. 

Lomion rose to his feet and brought a hand to his heart, saying quietly, “You shall see him again.” It was not an assurance. It was a vow.

“No,” I said furiously. 

Not in my wildest dreams did I think of seeing him again. I paid in full and more when I thought of him, for so deep and harrowing was the pain. He was lost to me, as was the rest of my family. I would not think of them anymore. Instead, I would bravely face whatever the Gods dealt me. Memories served only to weaken my will to live.

“Do you truly wish never to see him again?” my son asked me gently.

I did not reply. Instead, I chose to proceed with my tale, living the past once more through my words.

* * *

Nan Elmoth.

 

“Tell me about Mereth Aderthad,” Lómion begged. “I like hearing about the dances, the music, the lords from many realms and their doings.”

“Mereth Aderthad was a magnificent feast,” I said, smiling. “I cannot tell you all about it in one day.”

“We have time, you and I.”

He was right. We had all the time in the world. His life was being wasted away in these dark forests. I no longer held onto wistful dreams of escape. But what wouldn’t I have given to see my son free?

“I will take you away from this place, mother,” he swore. “I shall, very soon.”

“You cannot,” I whispered. “The Gods have not deemed it that I leave this cage.”

“Then I have no use for the Gods,” he shrugged, the gesture so eloquently reminding me of my fallen uncle.

Things come in circles; blasphemy had seeped into my son’s blood despite his isolation from kindred. What else would he inherit from my house? I shuddered at the thought. For the first time, I desperately wished that he would embrace his father’s legacy and be rid of mine.

“Tell me about the feast,” he asked impatiently.

 

Mereth Aderthad.

 

“Don’t braid it.”

“Whyever not?” Artanis paused combing my hair. “You look beautiful thus.”

“Tyelko likes it loose,” I said dreamily. “He said it reminds him of a butterfly’s wings.”

Some strange noise issued from Artanis’s throat, unforgivably close to a snort. I decided to overlook it for the sake of family harmony.

“What are you wearing?” I asked her, changing the topic before she made a comment. “Take my purple gown if you want. It shall become you well.”

“White. Macalaurë had one made for me last week. It is rather plain, but I like it. Frankly, I don’t understand the Sindar; their women wear such heavily embroidered gowns.”

I decided to thank Macalaurë when I saw him next. Artanis had always been her father’s favourite. It was he who procured her feast gowns and adornments. My father was notoriously ignorant about such things. Turkáno, on the other hand, always ensured that I had new gowns for each state function. He set store by such matters. But he had not brought a gown for Artanis and I had been wondering what to do. 

“There, it is perfect,” she said contentedly. “You shall be the queen tonight.”

“Artanis!” 

The melodious voice was a tad impatient and followed immediately by its owner. Macalaurë looked impeccably handsome as ever, his dark eyes flashing with his father’s fire. My uncle and his second-born had been too alike in temperament that they had never got along well with each other.

“You are beautiful, Irissë,” he smiled at me. “Artanis, come, there is an interesting man I would wish to introduce to you. He has studied deeply about the diseases prevalent in Middle-Earth.”

“Oh!” The flush of excitement that warmed my cousin’s usually pale features made me shake my head ruefully. She drowned her passion in healing while I drowned it in carnality. 

“Don’t forget to change your attire before you come for the feast, Artanis,” I called after them as they left the chamber. 

“I shall make sure that she doesn’t!” Macalaurë shouted.

 

The feast was magnificent. It reminded me of the grand affairs of Tirion, where wining and dining would continue for days on end. But the difference was marked; there were our people, there were the Sindar, there were many delegates from the lesser clans. 

“Behave,” my father hissed in my ear as he came forward to receive me. 

I suppressed a sigh. This warning was something that my father imparted to me before every ceremony ever since I had been able to walk and talk. I was quite weary of it. Behind him, Tyelko looked dangerously handsome in his dark brown tunic and breeches. I patted my father’s wrist reassuringly before hastening to join Tyelko. 

“The dances first, or the outdoors?” he asked me cheerily, bringing a goblet of wine to my lips.

“The dances!” I laughed, brushing my mouth against his fingers as I drank the wine. “I intend to dance till my feet give out.”

He bowed and offered his arm with a splendid flourish. Women across the floor were staring at him longingly. With possessiveness etched in every move, I leant forward to kiss him. His arms came about my waist, crunching up my gown abominably, and his lips closed over mine. 

When we parted, the dark flare in eyes testified to his state. I wondered if I were that obvious. A boisterous cheer arose from the crowds and we turned to watch the spectacle. Maitimo was making his entry, clad simply in grey robes. Carnistro was accompanying him, a pinched expression of concern on his features.

“Must we listen to the speeches?” I asked Tyelko. 

Maitimo and my father were rather eloquent whenever they addressed crowds. I had no wish to listen to speeches about vaulted hopes and dreams for unmitigated happiness. 

“I suppose we must. Your father wouldn’t be pleased otherwise.” 

He looked extremely disgruntled. I wondered if that was because of Maitimo’s heartfelt declaration of dispossession. My eldest cousin had not lost his graceful eloquence, whatever else he had lost. His simple speech brought tears to many and the elegant bow he sketched at the end of it earned the forgiveness of our host. I sighed as my father came forward to embrace him.

“His fondness for your father has coloured his decision. He did not ask for our counsel in the matter,” Tyelko spat. 

“But since when did you start offering counsel?” I threw him a coy glance, not wishing to spoil the atmosphere by launching into a defence of my father’s love for Maitimo.

Tyelko shrugged, his handsome features settling into a scowl. I suppressed a choice retort and turned to the dance floor. Artanis and Macalaurë were already there; their perfectly matched frames swaying languorously in tune with the harpist’s rendition of the slow song. I decided to wait it out. I disliked slow music. 

“Irissë,” Maitimo came to join us, his eyes sparkling with life. “You look very beautiful today.”

Tyelko turned away, not bothering to greet his brother. This was something that had sat ill with me for long. Ever since Maitimo’s return, there was a rift between them. Tyelko rarely ever kept vigil by his brother’s bedside. Their conversations were brittle and brisk. And now, following the proclamation of dispossession, Tyelko had turned simply hostile.

“Would you care for a dance with me?” I asked Maitimo. 

He loved to dance. Since Elenwë had shared his passion, and Turkáno was an appalling dancer, Maitimo had been Elenwë’s dance partner at feasts.

Wistfulness tinged his eyes before he shook his head saying, “I am afraid I would disgrace your beauty with my lack of coordination, Irissë. But I look forward to seeing you dance with Tyelko.”

“Tyelkormo,” his brother cut in abruptly. 

Maitimo raised his eyebrows by a fraction before saying evenly, “I have always called you Tyelko, brother.”

“He gave you a name and you gave him the crown,” Tyelko hissed. “Don’t presume that others will repeat your folly.”

“I want to dance,” I tugged at his arm forcefully. “Will you come or shall I seek out Findaráto?”

He opened his mouth to retort, but I drew up my chin stubbornly, leaving him no choice but to relent. He threw Maitimo one last glare before dragging me to the dance floor. With prudent application of my salacious skills, I managed to wipe the scowl away from his face. After two dances, he was a soul without care and we were the envy of every pair of eyes in the chamber. Macalaurë and Artanis had retired early on, for they had always found more pleasure in so called ‘intellectual’ conversation than in physical pursuits. I suspect they would be discussing lofty matters even while engaged carnally.

 

Tyelko was called away by a patrol commander. I made my way to Findaráto, who was staring speculatively at Carnistro’s toes. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at his fetish for long toes.

“Irissë,” he greeted me. “Where is your hunter?”

“He gave me a reprieve. If you were wise, you would ask me for a dance,” I looped my arm through his, inhaling contentedly of his familiar scent. 

“I have already had my fill of the dances,” he said easily. “But I am amenable to alternative pursuits.”

“I don’t have long toes.” I lifted my gown to show him my feet. “So find someone else.”

“I meant wining and dining,” he said disdainfully. “Really, Irissë! How can you even accuse me of carnal interest in my own cousin?”

“You consider yourself above it?” I laughed.

He winked at me before saying, “I have my share of depravities. But incest is not one among them.”

I was about to retort when Maitimo emerged from the woods, algae tangled in his crimson hair, his drenched robe clinging to his thin frame and shivers wracking his body. Stunned, I rushed across to him. 

“Why do you have algae in your hair, Maitimo?” 

“He must have fallen into that pond in the woods.” Findaráto joined us, his face clearly disapproving. “How many times must we ask you to stay within the confines of the camp until you are well enough to roam the lands?” 

He continued his rant, uncaring of the onlookers. I saw Maitimo’s discomfort with the scene and pinched Findaráto.

“It was my fault,” an extremely handsome Sinda intervened quickly. I wondered if he was as splendid as Tyelko under those clothes. He was truly a magnificent specimen of malekind. 

“How so?” Findaráto turned to glare at him.

“I lost my footing and fell into the pond. He pulled me out. He saved my life.”

The Sinda gazed at my eldest cousin with such gratitude that I suspected his intentions immediately.

“Can’t you swim?” I asked disbelievingly.

“Sindar,” Findaráto muttered in Quenya under his breath. “Irissë, you know how uncivilized and unlearned they are.”

I nodded and turned back to Maitimo saying, “Shall I come to assist you?” I was worried. He looked distinctly uncomfortable. Had the Sinda done something?

“No, I am sure that I will manage,” he waved me off hurriedly.

Findaráto made to speak again, but Maitimo sent him an imploring glance and he walked away with a huff. I looked at Maitimo uncertainly before following Findaráto. I would visit him later. Something was wrong.

“I am going to find Macalaurë,” Findaráto announced. “He shall manage Maitimo.”

“He will be occupied in the pleasant task of making love to your sister,” I warned him.

“I have caught them too many times and I doubt they care,” he shrugged. 

“You were always a voyeur,” I teased him. “I am going to find my father and assure him that I behaved as promised.”

 

Tyelko and I had an appetizing session of extremely sensual activities that involved wine, honey and cream in addition to the usual fare of bodily emissions. He slid into exhausted reverie following that. I kissed his brow and threw a coverlet above him before leaving my chamber. 

“I can’t be what you deserve,” Macalaurë was whispering fervently, his aristocratic features silhouetted in the dim firelight. 

I paused and slowly crept onwards, curiosity inflaming me. For him to shed arrogance and refinement, it must have been either Maitimo or Artanis.

“What you are; that shall suffice.” 

Artanis. 

I suppressed a sigh at their tangled relationship. It was strikingly obvious that they were in love with each other. Macalaurë, however, loved someone more than he ever could love her. 

“I wish it wasn’t so,” he said, his voice breaking on the last word.

“Hush.” There was a long pause when they must have been kissing; it was too silent to be ‘intellectual’ conversation. Or perhaps they were communicating through their minds; they were quite eccentric, even by our family standards.

A firm, gentle grip on my shoulder made me flinch and turn back. It was Turkáno, his features grim and concerned.

“Is Itarillë well?” I asked him.

“Yes.” He pulled me away from the corridor into a chamber. “It is Maitimo. He is upto whatever he does with our brother. I think Macalaurë should be told.”

“I will tell him,” I assured him. “Please retire, Turkáno. You look worn out.”

“Very well. I shall be with Atarinkë if you need me.” He patted my shoulder and left me to my thoughts.

I was not as intelligent as Artanis (nor did I want to be so). But I knew that telling Macalaurë about his brother’s doings would start a bitter war in the family. Despite our lax conventions, most of us were rather orthodox in carnal matters. Turkáno had forced himself to fall in love with a woman for the sake of appearances. But he had succeeded fortunately and he loved Elenwë still. It was the same with Atarinkë. Perhaps that formed the basis for their understanding.

 

When I made my way to Findekáno’s tent, I had to close my fingers over my ears, for so heart-wrenching were those ragged sounds emanating from there. I gulped and stayed where I was, waiting for the ordeal to end. The stench of alcohol pervaded the night air. My brother must have drunk heavily. 

Finally, the sounds ceased. To my horror, I saw that hot tears ran down my face, blistering in the cold breeze. 

He came out, his steps quite unsteady, his head bowed and his hand clutching his robes closed. I wondered what to do. The sharp hitch in his breathing when his arm brushed a tent decided my choice. I ran to him.

“Oh, cousin!” I panted, facing him. He looked shocked by my sudden appearance and his eyes were shining in misery, holding such depths of self-loathing and regret that I wanted to make Nerdanel appear out of the thin air and shake some sense into her stubborn son. He had always listened to her.

“Were you waiting for a long while?” His voice was hoarse and weak.

“Never mind.” I took his arm. “Come with me. I shall put you to bed.”

He did not reply, nor did he voice objection. So I took that he consented. I tried to keep up a steady chatter till we reached the tent. But somewhere along the path, a strong gust of wind blew and I smelled blood on him. I fell silent after that. 

“Irissë?” Tyelko could not have chosen a worse time to make his appearance. Maitimo flinched and murmured something about taking a shortcut. 

“Are you well?” Tyelko’s concern seemed sincere enough as he took in his brother’s gaunt, disheveled appearance. 

“Well enough, brother.” Maitimo smiled, which must have been a very hard thing to do, given the circumstances. “Irissë, you have no need for my escort from here, now that Tyelko has come. Enjoy your night. I shall see you at breakfast.”

“But-” I began as he turned to leave us. Tyelko was staring suspiciously at his brother. I sighed. 

“May you have a pleasant night too,” I called after Maitimo, though it was unlikely that he would have one. 

I joined Tyelko and we left for my chambers. I hoped fervently that my cousin had made it to privacy without running into anyone. 

 

 

“He’s insane, mark my words,” Tyelko muttered as he closed the chamber door after me.

I did not reply. Instinct warned me that trying to explain it to Tyelko would not avail. 

“The gall!” he continued angrily. “How dare they flaunt it to one and all? Could have at least thought of the family honour.”

I wondered which family’s honour he was referring to. Our family was not exactly the epitome of respectable living. 

I understood the reason behind his ill-treatment of his brother. Tyelko had always looked up to Maitimo as the perfect specimen of malekind. The recent developments had unsettled Tyelko deeply. He had learnt under Oromë and believed in the laws of Valinor. Hadn’t he ended our relationship when he learned of the relationship between our fathers? No wonder he reacted so harshly on hearing of his suave, elegant brother’s sudden craving for a forbidden pursuit. 

“They don’t flaunt it, Tyelko. It is merely one night in a dozen or so,” I said soothingly, trying to pull him under the covers with me. 

He snorted saying, “He screams like a woman. The entire host knows. I can’t understand for the life of me how he can bear to face us all under the sun. He should be ashamed of himself. I am glad that he gave up the throne! If he had not, which warrior would follow him into battle after knowing what he does at nights?”

I rubbed my temples in frustration. He had far exceeded the limits of my notoriously short temper. But we had been separated enough. I was prepared to make any sacrifice to prevent that happening again.

“He will end it soon.” I tried to quell the subject. “It is just a temporary aberration. Aren’t you glad that he has had an unbelievably rapid recovery thus far? Perhaps the activities help him achieve that.”

“If spreading his legs for Findekáno hastens his recovery, I don’t want to see him recovered,” he snarled, his eyes flashing in fury so intense that I was very glad his brother was not there to witness it.

The crude words undid the tight rein on my temper, though. I sat up and stared at him coldly, mustering ire enough to be reckless.

“I spread my legs for you and I love the act. Would you deny me that if you knew it was the only way to keep me alive and sane?”

He flinched at my words and stepped back, his features darkening in resentment and fear. Then he said quietly, “It is not in me to deny you anything, Irissë, and you know that.”

“Come to bed.”

Luckily, he obeyed me without a word of argument; a rare occurrence, for he did not, on usual days, acknowledge defeat so gracefully. Thankful for these small miracles that happen when we least expect them, I nestled my head on his shoulder and sighed when his arms came around me. His fingers stroked my hair and his heart played along with mine in rhythm. 

How often had I dreamt of being held thus while on that cursed Ice? So dreams do come true. The only trouble was to make them last. 

But I would make it last.

* * *

The partition of lands was a bitter affair. Carnistro wanted Himlad, citing proximity to Himring. Atarinkë, however, refused to give in an inch. My father had asked us all to stay away and let the sons of Fëanáro sort it out among themselves. 

“Your hunter has trapped a land of bounty,” Turkáno teased me as he walked into my chamber, perusing a long scroll that looked utterly boring.

“Himlad?” I asked him.

“Carnistro has taken Thargelion,” Turkáno informed me. “It is a beautiful land. Maitimo had to make amends because Atarinkë was insistent upon Himlad.”

“What of Macalaurë?” I asked. “Does he bide with his brother in Himring?”

“Across the plains, between the Rivers Gelion.” Turkáno looked worried. “I am not certain if he can defend that area. The hills fail completely and the land lies vulnerable.”

“Macalaurë is not as dreamy as you think he is.”

“Irissë?” Artanis’s voice was strained as she came in, her eyes suspiciously lustrous. “May I have a word alone with you?”

Turkáno and Artanis had never got along well, because their opinions clashed on everything. But he nodded to me and shot her a concerned look before hastening away and closing the door behind him.

“What is it?” I asked her gently, for she was pale and trembling.

“He is marrying,” she said softly, her eyes on the ground. “The woman is the daughter of a noble at the court…You might know her. She is very beautiful, in the classical manner. Though she doesn’t sing she appreciates music and art. Also--”

“Shut up.” I pulled her into an embrace and stopped her hurried words. She remained silent, her whole frame shivering. 

“I will find the blackguard and make him see sense,” I swore. 

She pulled away, looking pained. With a brave attempt at her most scornful tones, she spoke, “I am not surprised that you accuse him of inconstancy. You have always had poor perception. We separated by mutual consent and decided that it was for the best that he married.”

“What?” I blinked at her, wondering absently what it would take for her iron will to break and let the tears wash her grief away.

She tossed her head disdainfully and said, “Of course. The marriage will provide a legal binding of the alliance between the houses of our uncles since the woman is from Nolofinwë’s court and Macalaurë is a prince of the elder house. It is an excellent decision. Perhaps the woman will be able to turn his heart away from that course it is set upon, though I doubt it.”

“I won’t do the same,” I said brokenly, wondering if she truly meant what she had spoken. 

“I hope that you don’t need to,” she said.

 

“Father,” I roamed aimlessly in his study, poking about in his possessions. “Let me go with Tyelko?”

“If I say no, will you obey?” he asked amusedly without looking up from his work.

“Of course not,” I assured him. “But if I ask, it gives you the chance to approve. That in turn makes me an obedient daughter in the eyes of our people.”

“That is appalling logic,” he muttered. “I knew that Tyelkormo lacked in the upper attic. Activities with him have not increased your intelligence.”

“Nature has endowed him in the matter of the lower attic, and the upper attic never mattered to me.”

“You are talking to your father,” he remarked.

“My hallowed father who must have slept with every warrior of his host,” I teased him, laughing as he spluttered and glared at me.

“Not everyone,” he demurred, regaining his composure. “Findekáno’s toll exceeds mine.”

“That I shall not deny!” I assented. “Now, I am going with Tyelko.”

“Promise me that you shall think of marriage soon?” he asked quietly. “I shall speak with Tyelkormo if you consent.”

“Maybe after some years,” I said indulgently. 

I was leaving him and felt guilty. He was terribly lonely. Neither Turkáno and Findekáno were exactly close to Father in the way I was. If the prospect of my marriage made him happy, then I would not deny him that.

“How many years?” he asked, smiling knowingly. “Irissë, you are an appalling liar. Very well. If you are decided upon unrestrained carnality without marriage, then I shall not attempt convincing you otherwise.”

“Turkáno might be persuaded to marry again, if you desperately crave to arrange a wedding,” I suggested.

“I rather think Findaráto might be thus inclined. They speak of an attachment between Lúthien Singollo and your cousin.”

“Does the woman have long toes?” 

He raised his eyebrows and waved at the door, dismissing my truly curious question. I huffed and walked across to kiss his cheek before leaving him to his work. 

 

“Irissë,” Tyelko came to my side. “The ride is long and exhausting. I think you should take cushions for the saddle, lest you get saddlesore.”

“I intend to be sore, but not of saddles,” I said blithely, and laughed as he muttered an imprecation before kissing me very brutally, exactly how I liked it. 

“You ate my lips,” I cursed as I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and winced as I saw the blood.

“Is it my fault that your lips are luscious?” 

Such compliments never failed to set my heart thudding madly. I glared at him and rolled my eyes trying to affect indifference. But I think I failed miserably.

“The cushions,” he reminded me.

“I shall just get a pair of Findekáno’s breeches. That is easier,” I left before he could pick an argument.

Hoping that my brother was not drunk (he was an absolute pain when drunk), I made my way to his chambers. My knock elicited a low call of “Enter!”

Wondering what company he was entertaining (he had some really eccentric tastes), I stepped in and closed the door after me. He was quite used to walking in upon Tyelko and I all over the place. I was equally used to seeing him with his many partners. 

To my surprise, Maitimo was sleeping on the large bed and Findekáno was standing by the window, his fingers playing softly over the harp that had contributed to many of my temper tantrums. I sniffed curiously, but there was no scent of intriguing activities that they occasionally indulged in.

“You are leaving?” he asked me. “I wish I could accompany you till the borders. But someone needs to be here with Father.”

“Tyelko said that game abounds in the land,” I said cheerfully. “I shall have a good season.”

“I am sure that you will,” he smiled at my enthusiasm. “Come and kiss me farewell now, sister-dear. Was that not why you came here?”

“Of course not,” I rolled my eyes. “I wanted a pair of your breeches. Tyelko said it is a long ride.”

“Can’t you wear his?” Findekáno raised an eyebrow tolerantly. He knew of my discomfort with gowns while riding and did not particularly mind when I wore his breeches. Turkáno, on the other hand, had leapt backwards like a scalded cat when I went to borrow his breeches. Wisely, I had refrained in the future from approaching him.

“No!” I shook my head ruefully. “His clothes shall have his scent. Terribly distracting, you know.”

He bit down on his lips to prevent laughing out loud and shook his head warningly, waving a hand at the sleeping form of our cousin in the bed.

“This is not what the two of you usually get upto, is it?” I broached the matter nervously, guilt and curiosity warring within me.

Regret flashed in my brother’s dark eyes before he said crisply, “I envy what you have with Tyelko, Irissë. The only thing that Maitimo and I share is a bitter chalice of drink and depravity.”

“He trusts you well enough to sleep here without a care,” I remarked cautiously.

“I drugged his wine with something mild enough to grant an hour’s sleep.” He shrugged. “He was looking so done in and weary that I didn’t have the heart to…to do what we usually do.”

“Irissë!” Tyelko was calling.

“I must go,” I said quietly. “Take care, brother.”

He nodded and walked over to the bed, his fingers questing of their own accord into my cousin’s profusion of crimson. His touch spurred sleepy, languid grey eyes open. Maitimo stared at my brother for a long moment before exhaling deeply in resignation as he realized the deception.

“I am leaving,” I said, stooping down to pluck a pair of breeches from the floor where they lay in a heap of disordered clothing. 

“Whyever do you need those breeches for?” Maitimo asked incredulously, his eyes wide open in shocked consternation as I lifted my gown and pulled the breeches on. 

“Findekáno can tell you!” I said easily as I smoothed down the gown over the breeches and rushed out.

 

The land was lush, wild and verdant. Harts fled before our convoy as we passed through the low valleys. Never before had I seen such a beautiful place. My fellow riders were all silent as they drank in the beauty of this magnificent realm.

It was nearing dusk and the sun was traversing west along its course to the horizon. Mountains prevented the land from being scorched by the heat and cool winds blew from the north, rippling through the knee-length grass on the plains, a visual realization of one of Macalaurë’s composition, chords played out by nature flawlessly. 

“You chose well,” I told Atarinkë.

“Except for Macalaurë, everybody chose well,” was his good-humoured reply. 

“Irissë!” Tyelko called out from the front of the convoy. “Are you game for a hunt tomorrow?”

“Whyever do you have to ask?” I laughed. “At dawn?”

“At dawn,” he assented, his dark eyes sparkling dangerously in the fading sunlight. 

“I suppose he should have asked if you were game for being hunted,” Atarinkë commented sarcastically.

I turned to face him and asked solemnly, “Why didn’t you go with Turkáno?”

He fiddled with the reins of his mount as he composed an answer thoughtfully. Finally he spoke.

“Many reasons. We are both fathers. We have our children to think of. The vision had been meant for him alone. Taking a Fëanorion alone would sully his efforts to appease the Gods. I have my Oath to consider. I cannot pull him down along with me. And there are my brothers. Despite what people may say, Maitimo is not recovered. Macalaurë’s decisions shall have long-lasting consequences. Your brother keeps the edge off Maitimo’s despair. But I don’t think it is a permanent solution. I am worried about Tyelko also. You know how reckless he can be when his mind is set on something. The twins are not accepting of fate. That is a dangerous thing.”

“Tyelko has me,” I pointed out huffily. “You needn’t worry about his welfare!”

“You are more impulsive than he is, if such a thing were possible. It was well and fine to be reckless in Valinor when we had nothing to fear. But these lands are darker. You must rein in your impulsive nature, Irissë. I fear.”

“You are worrying over nothing,” I said breezily. “Come join us for the hunt tomorrow and release your frustrations in the thrill of the chase?”

He did not reply. I decided to let him be. Artanis occasionally exhibited such behaviour. It was easier to let her have isolation then. Speaking to her and trying to coax her out of her brooding always led to arguments.

 

Nan Elmoth.

 

“Aredhel?”

His was a voice I despised so. It reminded me of my weakness, of my much-regretted impulsive, rash decisions and of everything I had lost.

“Why do you bide alone in the forge when the starlight dances without?” Eöl asked me, concern and curiosity warring in his tones.

“This is an excellent sword.” I tapped the edge of the blade he had wrought recently.

“My finest creation. Can you guess the alloy?” he asked excitedly. 

He was always eager to learn my opinions in the matters of the forge, of which I possessed a tolerable knowledge because of my uncle’s eager tutoring and Tyelko’s willing compliance. 

I ran an index finger along the length of the blade, fascinated by the cunning craft employed in its making. He was brilliant in the forge and his skill surpassed even that of my people.

“Moonmetal?” I ventured. There was darkness lingering in the blade. I frowned and removed my finger hastily. Foreboding rose in my blood, as it had long ago when I entered Nan Elmoth. “The lode from the skies, is it?”

“The same. You are more beautiful than ever.” 

He came behind me and wrapped his hands about my waist, pulling me against him. The smell of musk and sweat pervaded the air, ominously declaring his intentions. His hard masculinity rubbed coarsely through the light material of my gown. I swallowed and twisted about to face him, wanting desperately to escape his clutches and yet bound to him because of my son. 

“I am not well,” I croaked, the closest to a plea I had come. “Don’t touch me.”

The dark flare of desire had transformed him into a primal creature. He would regret it later and seek my forgiveness. But now my pain mattered not to him. When he took my lips in a dominating kiss, I stiffened and steeled my mind for what was to come. I had endured. I would always endure, for I was of the blood of Finwë. 

He pushed me down onto the cold flagstones, uncaring of my muted gasp of pain as my head struck the hard floor. The distance in his eyes alarmed me. I had seen those dark pools lit by mad desire, soul-deep regret and actual happiness. But never had I witnessed this distance. 

“Eöl!” I spoke his name, hoping to recall him to the present.

But he snarled and viciously pinned my hands high above my head, laughing when he heard my pained gasp. When he removed his belt I knew the beginning of true fear. The belt was wrought from galvorn, strong and supple. He leant back onto his haunches and watched dispassionately as I tried to struggle beneath him. The lack of activity in these lands as well as the deep pining sorrow I nursed had made me weaker than I used to be. My arms ached at the joints and my lower body was restrained by his solid weight, rendering my token struggle futile. 

“Eöl, you are not yourself-”

My words were cut off as he ripped away the thin sash about the waist of my gown and wound it into a coil, proceeding to stuff it into my mouth. I screamed and thrashed my head wildly, calling aloud my son’s name in anguish. Eöl held down my head and I choked as the thick wadding muted my cries.

“Stay or I shall bind you spread-eagled,” he warned.

Never had I been inclined to compliance. Pride and anger so fiery rose in my veins at his sadistic confidence and I bucked, trying to throw him off in vain, my eyes narrowed in spite. 

“Foolish Noldo,” he hissed, sounding darkly satisfied by my defiance. 

He turned me around, so that my face was crushed against the floor, my hair strewn about my eyes obscuring my vision and breathing made difficult. Then I knew that I had underestimated his cunning. I heard the sound of hammer plying nails. I tried to lift my head, but did not have the will or energy to accomplish it. He wrenched my hands away from my head and tied them taut, the ends of the ropes fastened to the nails he had dug into the floor. When he did the same to my legs, I tried to scream again, fear gripping my heart as never before. 

Was it justice meted out for betraying my brother’s love to save my cousin’s sanity? Were the Gods cruel enough to make Eöl the dispenser of their judgement?

Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, proud princess of the Noldor, called Irissë by her people, never cried. Her will was of iron, her heart true and brave. But that woman was nowhere in the forge. 

What remained was a sobbing mass of piteous life, soaked in blood, tears and the brunt of unrestrained lust. Fingernails broke as they clawed the floor; limbs nearly fell out of their joints. And when the wad of cloth was removed, miserable words alien to those proud lips rushed out, seeking deliverance from the cruelty that had sufficed to break even Finwëan will. 

 

I woke to the pungent stench of liniment and boiling herbs. I did not open my eyes, losing myself to the memories those scents brought me.

“Artanis.” My whisper was broken and hoarse. Never had I heard it sound so awful before.

“Mother?” 

His stricken tones were enough to force my eyes open. Tear trails ran down his pale, handsome face. His eyes were bloodshot and gauntness accentuated his features. I remembered…and desperately wished that I had been spared the memories. 

Lómion made to speak again, but halted, his words unvoiced. His jaw clenched and he stolidly went about the task of cleaning my wounds. Fear shone in his dark, piercing eyes. I had not truly known fear before this day. I did not want my son to ever know it again.

“I would not die and leave you alone, Lómion. You are my son. I shall not let you be destroyed by him, I swear!” 

“I thought you were dead.” The low, pained voice was accompanied by trembling fingers caressing my limp hair. “You were not moving. The pulse of life was feeble and slowing that I feared you had let go…Oh, mother!” He stooped to press a desperate kiss to my forehead, his anguish wreaking a pain that was thousand times worse than what Eöl had made me suffer.

“I shall not leave you,” I swore again. 

“No,” he said quietly. “We shall leave together now.”

“Lómion!” I exclaimed. “He is not in possession of his better senses now. We must not enrage him by-”

“He has left for the midsummer feast in Nogrod. I have the sword he made. It shall suffice. Come, mother, let us not tarry!”

“Where shall we go?” I asked, aghast. “We cannot!”

His dark eyes shone in resolution. I knew he would not be swayed. He had inherited more than blasphemy from my house. The stubborn pride that rankled in his sharp gaze testified to the legacy of Finwë. 

“You shall be my guide and I will be your guard!” he said fervently. “We will not rot in this forest as his thralls, Mother. Come, lead us to Himlad, to your cousin! That is the nearest abode of the Noldor. He shall welcome you.”

“Tyelko…” 

I gulped, wondering what words of scorn he would have when he saw me thus. He had never forgiven Maitimo for succumbing to the will of another. What would he think of me when he knew of all that had transpired? 

“He shall not dishonour you, Mother,” Lómion promised. “Nobody shall, as long as I draw breath.”

“Lómion,” I tried to explain, “it is not simple. They will consider me an outcast. They will not receive me. My father is dead. My cousins and brothers are all in far-flung places. Himlad is the nearest. But Tyelko is not forgiving of weaknesses, and weak I was to succumb to Eöl.”

“Hush, and let us leave.” He drew a white cloak about my shaking shoulders, covering what was tainted with a sheet of purity. “My mother shall walk beneath the sunlight again. She shall be loved as she deserves. Come with me.”

He was my guard, and I his guide. 

Fear gripped me when the leaves shifted and accusing moonlight shone down. Each movement in the forest had me trembling. But Lómion drew me to him, his youth marred by sorrow and resolution, his steps unwavering and his sword ever at the ready. 

“There is nothing to fear. He shall not return this day,” he said reassuringly. 

“Lómion,” I whispered.

“Let me sing for you, Mother, please?”

I nodded and pulled the folds of my cloak tighter to ward off more than mere cold. 

His melodious, clear, young voice rose proud and high in the forest as once Elenwë’s had on the Ice. 

“In the Age of Gold, youth and maiden bright,  
Naked in the sunny beams delight!”

 

We crossed the stream marking the boundary of Nan Elmoth, called Celon, the slender, by Eöl’s people. The tree cover sparsened and the skies were no longer obscured. A strange fullness constricted my chest when my eyes hungrily drank in the sight of the golden-red splendour of dawn hues cast across the canvas above me.

“Look, Mother!” Lómion pointed at the fiery symbol of defiance that I had craved for years to look upon. 

“The sun,” I whispered softly, wondering if the Gods were taunting me with dreams that would have me awaken in the darkness of Elmoth again.

“You are free.” 

He embraced me, his hands gentle and firm as they stroked my hair reassuringly. I was free. I was no longer caged. I clung to Lómion, burying my face in his shoulder, trying to bring myself to believe this. 

“Let us hasten to Himlad,” he said. “There we shall rejoice.”

“Yes.”

My voice did not shake. Even if Tyelko failed to treat me with honour and spurned me as he had spurned Maitimo years ago, I would still not regret my son. I would go west, to Findekáno, or to the south, to Turkáno. 

I was free from my cage. I was Aredhel Ar-Feiniel once more.

* * *

Nargothrond,

The Coronation of Finrod Felagund.

 

 

“Care to try an oyster?” I asked Tyelko as we sampled the decadent fare set for the banquet.

“Not particularly. It reminds me of Alqualondë,” he muttered before choosing a sweetmeat and advancing along.

I picked up an oyster and nudged him. Absently, he turned back to face me. I waited until his eyes were focused on my form. Then I tipped my head back, taking care to expose my long neck, and licked clean the contents of the shell with appropriate sounds. I also ensured that a trickle had escaped down my lips. When Tyelko hissed and drew me to him, his eyes dark and wide, I let my tongue play along the dribble tantalizingly.

“Care to try the oyster?” I whispered as I leaned in invitingly, my lips hovering over his.

This time, he cared to try. I flatter myself that he liked it very much.

“Could you consider behaving?” 

My father’s vexed voice made Tyelko sigh and push me away, his eyes still smouldering in passion. I sent him a coquettish look, though generally I failed at such things. Artanis was more experienced than I was in subtle seduction. Luckily for me, Tyelko had never required it.

“Irissë,” my father snorted amusedly. “Do stop that. Aren’t you too depraved to resort to such demure looks?”

“Where is Maitimo, Father?” I looped my arm through his and led him away from Tyelko. They did not get along well and the last thing I needed was an argument between them.

“He is negotiating between Carnistro and Atarinkë; some matter of trade,” my father said. “But I came to find you for another reason. Macalaurë has come.”

“I thought he said he would not!” I exclaimed. “That is the only reason why we could persuade Maitimo to come.”

“Well, we can hardly tell him that his brother came only when we promised Macalaurë would not be there.” My father sighed. “His wife accompanies him. So would you make sure that nothing erupts between Maitimo and him? I have my hands full with your brother’s latest scrape.”

“What happened?” I asked, with deep interest. My brother’s sex life was varied to say the least. 

“You are incorrigible. Proper ladies would have exclaimed in shock and dismay on hearing such things,” my father remarked with fond pride. 

“But proper ladies have proper fathers,” I quipped. 

“Irissë! Nolofinwë!” It was Artanis, hurrying towards us with a large map in her hands. “You must see this!”

“What is it, my dear?” 

My father went to her side and peered at the map. They were cronies; my father and Artanis. Perhaps they both drank daily to lost loves. I rid myself of such unfair thoughts and joined them. 

“A volcanic region,” she was saying excitedly, “the hot springs made me think of heat beneath, Nolofinwë. As you once told me…”

I was lost. Shaking my head irritably, I left them to their boring debate.

 

Tyelko was preening before the mirror when I entered his chamber. He was naked, gorgeously well-formed and his chest called for eternal adulation. I wondered if I could persuade Macalaurë to compose an ode to his brother’s manly chest. 

“I was about to get dressed for the ceremony,” he waved distractedly at the robes on the bed, his eyes on his reflection in the mirror.

“Are you in love with yourself?” 

“Not particularly,” he demurred with such modesty that I wanted to kick his ankles very hard. 

“Good,” I said firmly. “Because I don’t share.” Unlike Artanis, who was still incurably in love with the arrogant rake.

Tyelko was watching my reflection in the mirror now. Laughing, I tossed his robes at him and began stripping.

“What?” he demanded.

“Let us see how long your control lasts when I am naked and you are not,” I challenged. 

He threw the robes away and pounced upon me, bearing us down to the carpet. The rest of what ensued was not quiet. Even when my father knocked on the doors and asked us to do it silently, I could not help myself. Was it my fault that Tyelko was so generously endowed and gloriously muscled? 

After Findaráto threatened to break the doors open, Tyelko regretfully stopped and I sulked. I did not care about Findaráto’s threat. But Tyelko had one of his attacks of discretion and honour. So he dressed hastily and compelled me to do the same. 

 

Before the coronation, there was a private dinner that my father hosted for our family reasoning that it had been a long while since our last union. Maitimo arrived with Carnistro and paled immediately when he saw Macalaurë speaking softly with Artanis. Silence fell in the chamber as the brothers regarded each other warily. 

“Sit by my side, cousin?” 

Findekáno rose and gestured to the empty chair between my father and him. Maitimo gave a silent nod before complying, his eyes wandering over the wall paintings instead of meeting his brother’s cold gaze. Macalaurë’s wife was seated beside me and she let out a soft sigh, making me look up at her inquisitively.

“It is a tangle, isn’t it?” she asked me rhetorically, her eyes moving from Macalaurë to Artanis and then to my brother and finally to my eldest cousin.

Guilt raised its unhallowed head within me, searing me with doubts. But Artanis’s cool blue eyes met mine and she offered a reassuring smile. 

Macalaurë’s wife leaned across and addressed Maitimo, “How fares everything in Himring, my lord?”

I admired the woman. She was asking it for her husband’s sake. Macalaurë had set down his goblet and was watching the scene unfold with deep eagerness lighting his eyes. The separation must have been very difficult for him then. But his pride ensured that he would not ask about his brother’s welfare directly.

Maitimo’s eyes flickered to Macalaurë’s goblet for an instant before he replied quietly, “Very well, Carnilótë. Telpë has been staying with me for the season. We have had some excellent hunts and feasts.”

“Truth!” Findekáno took over, his natural ebullience coming into play easily. “Why, you should have seen the hart Telpë brought down the other day! Of monstrous size! He has inherited his father’s hunting skills.”

Atarinkë smiled self-consciously and inclined his head at the compliment paid to him. A wry voice within my mind told me that coupling with my diplomatic eldest cousin was finally turning my rash brother into a refined prince. 

Carnilótë was looking across at her husband encouragingly. He sighed and shook his head, pride warring with concern. Artanis’s fingers came to rest over his hands and he exhaled.

“Have you been well, Russandol?” his voice was cold, colder than the Helcaraxe. But there was no mistaking the emotion that shone in his eyes when he looked upon his elder brother.

Maitimo fumbled with his goblet before setting it aside and saying courteously, “In excellent form, brother. And you?”

Macalaurë did not bother to reply, instead returning to his wine and draining it down. Across me, Artanis was glaring at Findaráto who was trying his best to smother his laughter.

The rest of the dinner was relatively uneventful. All of us pretended not to notice Macalaurë’s worried glances directed at his brother when the latter was not looking. Maitimo’s tentative attempts to engage Macalaurë in conversation had our backing. But when Macalaurë began dousing our enthusiasm with his sarcasm, we gave up. No cause was worth enduring his acid tongue.

“I met a woman in my lands, of the Sindar,” Findaráto was saying. “She knew a method to increase virility thrice over. I was curious…”

“Tell us you didn’t!” Artanis gasped, looking at her brother with her eyes wide. “It must have been a concoction based on snake venom! The Sindar swear by that.”

“It did what she promised it would do,” he said blithely, looking as comfortable as if he were discussing the weather. “But the day after was torture.”

I had barely made a mental note to ask him where exactly I could procure the potion when my father said teasingly, “I hope you did share it with your partner. It would have been unfair to let the other person bear the brunt of your artificial virility.”

Findaráto winked and sipped at his wine, looking very much like a depraved member of our family. Artanis was smiling and nodding as Macalaurë whispered something in her ear. Carnilótë was laughing and teasing Findaráto, who continued to be shamelessly proud of his doing. 

“I don’t approve though,” Maitimo was saying good-naturedly. “Cousin, you should not trust strangers and their concoctions! What if it had caused you harm?”

Findaráto was about to retort when Tyelko’s voice burst in, fiery and unforgiving. “His doings do less dishonour than what you practice, brother.”

A hushed silence fell on the table. Father darted a glance at me, clearly indicating that I should stop Tyelko’s tirade. But I was seated away from him. 

Findaráto rallied first and began regaling us with another tale. “Did I tell you about the superstition that Sindar women have about the fertility--” 

“Tyelkormo has not finished his say,” Aikanáro interrupted, his eyes cold and disdainful.

“We shall speak later,” Maitimo said briskly. “I find no need to dissect my private life for your amusement.”

“Then you don’t deny it,” Aikanáro stated flatly.

My father looked bewildered, for the relationship between his beloved nephew and his firstborn still remained a mystery to him. He did not know anything and we were all glad for that. 

Maitimo pushed aside my brother’s restraining hand and leaned forward, fire playing in his eyes as he said quietly, “I know more about your private life than you do about mine, Aikanaro. Do you truly wish to go ahead?”

Aikanáro flushed and remained silent, a scowl marring his features. The incorrigible gossip in me found it very difficult to stop asking what the secret was.

“But I don’t have sordid secrets, brother.” Tyelko rose to his feet, undaunted. “I love Irissë, and that is all. You cannot threaten me with any sort of disclosure.”

Maitimo blanched and met Tyelko’s gaze warily. Findaráto was earnestly whispering something to my father. 

“Tyelko!” Carnistro rose to his feet and glowered. “That is enough. What he does in his private life is none of our business.”

“It is, when my warriors call me the brother of one who sold his manh--”

He gasped, for Macalaurë’s sword had drawn blood at his throat. Carnilótë rose to her feet and was imploring her husband to lower his sword. I had seen Macalaurë during the kinslaying. Even when he had been killing to survive, he had not looked like this.

“Fëanáro,” my father whispered as he looked upon his brother’s secondborn.

He spoke the truth. The fire in Macalaurë’s eyes and the wrathful pride that ran in his blood was his father’s legacy. 

“Desist,” Artanis rose and placed a hand on his shoulder. “He was merely outspoken as usual. You know that he meant nothing.”

“Tyelko,” I hurried to my cousin’s side and glared at him. “Just apologize and let us end the charade. The coronation ceremony is due.”

“I need no apology,” Maitimo said quietly. “And I need no champion.”

“Now, Russandol-” my father began. 

“No.” Maitimo rose to his feet and included us all in one sweeping glare of disdain. “I have endured more than anyone else in this chamber. I have no need of protectors. The next time I hear an accusation about my preferences, rest assured that the consequences shall not bear thinking of.”

Findekáno pinched his nose and poured himself more wine. Atarinkë muttered something about touchy brothers and hurried after Maitimo. 

Tyelko shoved off Macalaurë’s sword and said most unctuously, “He seems to have no need of your protection. He needs something else altogether from our cousin, in case you remain ignorant.”

Macalaurë did not reply, choosing to answer with a frosty glare. I sighed and tugged Tyelko away. There were times when I suspected that even I had more sense than my lover. 

“It was foolish,” I told him flatly. “And unnecessary and cruel. You never have been this way before.”

“It is him!” he said crossly. “How can he bear to do it?”

“Do what? Coupling? Really, it is too much to expect that others forego what you indulge in so decadently.”

“No,” he raked his fingers through his hair and spoke softly. “How can he submit?”

Whatever I tried to tell him, he remained adamant and he did not speak to Maitimo in the course of the celebrations. I began to fear if they would ever greet each other again. 

 

Himlad.

 

“Irissë! Irissë!”

Atarinkë’s whoop of joy was music to my ears. I laughed and rushed into his embrace. My son stood back, a smile playing on his usually sombre features. 

“Eru, you are alive!” Atarinkë spoke disbelievingly. “He always said you were…but to see you, you are alive!”

“That is enough!” I pulled back and resisted the urge to embrace him till my arms dropped off. “This is my son, Lómion.”

Atarinkë was graced with tact. He did not ask questions. He walked forth and embraced my son, murmuring expressions of gratitude and welcome.

“He is your son indeed,” Atarinkë said finally, looking from Lómion to me. 

Lómion flushed at the compliment and I nodded to my cousin gratefully for setting my son at ease.

“Where is he?” I asked Atarinkë later, after Lómion had retired.

My cousin sighed and said grimly, “I don’t think it would be wise to see him now, Irissë. He did not take the tidings of your disappearance well. There were many bitter arguments between Maitimo and Tyelko. Macalaurë now lives in Himring and Tyelko believes that there is a relationship. I know it is not true. Maitimo still dances about the topic with his customary skill at circumvention. Macalaurë is devoted to his wife though he shall thaw if Maitimo makes the admission.”

“Tyelko spurned them?” I asked softly, knowing well Tyelko’s orthodox leanings in these matters.

“He did not dare speak to Macalaurë for the obvious reasons. But he did have cruel words for Maitimo. I don’t think now is the time for you to seek him. I shall not aid causing you more grief if I can help it, Irissë.”

“He cannot spurn me,” I said with all the confidence I did not feel.

“Maybe,” Atarinkë shrugged. “But my conscience forbids me to let you seek him.”

“I didn’t know you had a conscience,” I remarked, fighting a laugh. 

Laughter was again possible in my life. I had thought that I had lost the ability in my cage. I took in a deep breath of the cool night air and watched the moon happily.

“My conscience is fickle,” Atarinkë said dryly. “It makes its appearance when it is in my best interests.”

“It is better than mine,” I confessed. “I still regret Lómion’s existence sometimes.”

“He is your son, Irissë.” Atarinkë turned to kiss my cheek. “The circumstances may have been cruel. But he has our blood.”

“I think Artanis would not agree,” I said weakly. 

“Even Artanis could not have done anything in the situation,” he said crisply. 

“I don’t know, Atarinkë. She would love no child more than she loves her pride. She is like my brother.” 

“Why worry about hypothetical situations?” he laughed the matter away. 

I continued to think about it later that night, as I lay alone and relived the past. Artanis would have killed Lómion; I knew that instinctively. Would pride be her undoing one day as recklessness had been mine?

 

A pounding on my doors scattered my thoughts. I sat up and frowned, cursing whoever it was that had thought to disturb me on the first night in many years when I was actually lying on a silk mattress.

“Open the door, you fool! Open the thrice-damned door!” 

I knew the voice though it was broken by ragged sobs. I nearly fainted but the courage in my blood rallied and I rose to my feet, wrapping my hands about myself.

 

“Tyelko,” I whispered. 

It was time. I was Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, my father's proud, fearless daughter. I would not fear a former lover's scorn. It did not matter to me at all. But I was shaking, and the memories blazed through my mind leaving my pride and courage no quarter.

Such a cursed thing was love.

* * *

Himlad,

The present.

 

“Brother!” It was Atarinkë’s voice. “Come away. Pray, don’t disturb her rest. She needs it. It was a long, hard journey.”

“I must see her now!”

“Hush, and come with me,” Atarinkë said firmly. “This can keep for the night.”

“I cannot believe that she did not come to me,” said the voice I knew so well. “I cannot believe that she married the pagan Sinda!”

“It was no marriage,” Atarinkë was saying gently. 

Within the chamber I stood alone, trying to stave off memories of my days in Nan Elmoth. It was no marriage. It was damnation.

“She has a son, I heard from your footmen. It was marriage, brother, seek not to spare me. She betrayed me, the wretched woman!”

A sob escaped me, pathetic and pitched low. I had known he would react thus. He had never shown compassion. He would not understand. He would not try to understand. I had always known that. 

“Brother…” 

I did not hear the rest of Atarinkë’s persuading words, for I had already been carried to the dim alleys of my past.

 

 

East Beleriand,

The Lands held by Amras, son of Fëanor.

The Past.

 

 

“Wild lands, wild women,” Carnistro was muttering as he watched the dances. 

The women of the Sindar wore long garments crafted from doeskin that had slits on either side running down from mid-thigh to the frayed ends. Their milky skin glowed in the firelight as they leapt in and out of the two circles chalked around the fire. They wore their hair loose and bedecked the mane with flowers. Their bare feet nimbly danced to a wild hunting lay. The flames soared and the dance movements turned frenzied as the song picked up pace. 

“Now, now, cousin!” Findaráto was chuckling. “Even you must agree that there is something about comely legs and fair skin dancing in such fine display which makes our hearts beat faster.”

“Say nothing of the toes, eh, cousin?” Tyelko teased him. Findaráto sniffed affecting a wounded air, but then winked in assent. 

We had gathered for the hunting season in the game-rich lands of East Beleriand. Artanis had not come, of course. She claimed that only fools would go hunting when pursuits such as healing and learning were ours to choose from. We had left her with my father and Findekano. Tyelko and Atarinkë had come from Himlad. I did not know what means of persuasion were used, but Carnistro had turned up with a disgruntled Maitimo in tow. Findaráto and the twins had already started the chase. 

Now, we were camped beside a Sindarin settlement and had been invited to watch their dances.

“May I proposition someone for the night?” Findaráto asked lazily, his eyes raking Carnistro’s frame with intent.

“Of course.” Carnistro did not miss a beat. “Tyelko is the fairest of our father’s sons.”

“He is mine,” I said firmly. “Findaráto, you would do better to not look at him like you are now looking at Carnistro.”

“Peace,” Findaráto said easily. “As much as I appreciate Tyelko’s charms, I am afraid our tastes differ, Irissë.”

“In what way?” Atarinkë teased. “Tyelko and Irissë are the most carnally minded of us all. Why, father used to say that they were ruled by their libido. I agree on that.”

“Of course not!” Tyelko spluttered angrily. “Brother, you will not insult me thus!”

“I consider it praise,” I broke in, “especially when I think of how carnal uncle had been!”

“That he was!” Carnistro chuckled.

“Have you no sense of honour to speak ill of our father?” Tyelko demanded, his fair features turning dark in anger. “Will you sully his name by such insinuations?”

“Tyelko,” I began, wearily anticipating yet another of his righteous tirades. As much as I loved him, I did not wish to endure one of those immediately.

The dance ended. Carnistro heaved himself to his feet and walked over to thank our hosts. The rest of us followed suit before returning to the camp.

Ambarto came to greet us, his mien quiet and reserved as ever. Even Findaráto’s bawdy jesting did not bring laughter to Ambarto. I wondered if some sadness was festering within him. 

“Has my favourite cousin retired?” Findaráto asked him. “I had planned on a late night drink with him before I turned in.”

“He will be glad for the company, I am sure,” Carnistro said briskly, without awaiting Ambarto’s answer. “He never retires before midnight.”

“Well, Irissë,” Findaráto leant in to kiss my cheek. “You may have your hunter all to yourself. I shall make do with his brother.”

“Huan shall guard me,” Atarinkë warned. “So don’t come near anywhere within a mile of me with that intent, cousin much loved.”

“I shall not touch what is another’s,” Findaráto remarked. 

All of us laughed when Atarinkë muttered an unconvincing negative reply before stalking off to his tent. Carnistro bid us goodnight and left. Ambarto led Findaráto to Maitimo’s tent leaving me alone with my hunter.

“Shall we retire?” he asked me.

“No,” I turned to face him, to gaze upon those golden features that embodied vigour and virility. “I want you to do me a favour.”

“A favour?” he asked dubiously. “The last time you asked a favour of me, we ended up in Arafinwë’s cellar for three weeks.”

I stepped closer to him and parted my lips, so that my breath blew softly on his skin. His eyes darkened and he frowned, suspicious of my intent. 

“Lie down,” I whispered.

“Here?” He jumped away, horror and revulsion torturing his handsome face. We stood in a bald patch of land, hemmed in by tents. “How dare you!” 

“The sentries shall not come. They are forbidden to,” I told him. 

I spoke the truth. Carnistro had pitched our warriors’ tents away from ours because we had Maitimo with us. My eldest cousin preferred seclusion and privacy in his resting arrangements and would have balked if his tent was in the middle of our small camp. 

“But still!” Tyelko hissed. “We are adults. We cannot act as if we were--”

“I will not let us be discovered, Tyelko.” 

“Irissë--”

I impatiently brought my lips to his. His arms came about my frame immediately and he muttered an imprecation before pulling me down to the ground with him. I reveled in my victory and did not hesitate to undo the ties of his breeches, drawing his penis into my hands. It jerked in response and his fingers dug into my shoulders as the kiss grew impassioned. 

I lifted my skirts and took him into my womanhood before he even realized my intent. There we were, under the lazy moon, my clothes tented over our doings, his tunic turning wet with perspiration as desire conquered him. He bit down on his lips as I threw my head back and began riding him. My skirts flew up in the wind and I felt the cold air on the wet, heated skin of my inner thighs, but I did not care. Faster and faster, I rose and fell, my breath coming in pants and spurts.

Then it was over, and I was a quivering mass of heated flesh above his hard torso. He soothed me with soft words and gentle stroking until I slid into that half-aware state between consciousness and dreams. 

“I have always admired your riding skills,” he remarked.

I barely had the energy to quirk my lips in acknowledgment of his compliment before I fell asleep.

When I stirred again, it was to the sound of hushed voices. 

“I don’t know, brother. I cannot accept this relationship of yours.” It was Tyelko. “He is drunk on most of the nights. He may not mean you harm. But wine is a terrible foe, hard to wrestle with.”

“I walk into it open-eyed,” Maitimo was saying. “You need not fear on my account. All I ask is that you cease this cold-shouldering. I have already lost Macalaurë’s regard. I cannot afford to lose yours too.”

“You are begging, Maitimo,” Tyelko said sharply.

“Perhaps I am,” Maitimo said. “I have learned to honour blood and kinship. I don’t wish discord between us over such a trivial matter.”

“It is not trivial!” Tyelko hissed. “If it is, why can’t you stop wanting it?”

When Maitimo spoke, it was in a tone that marked deep introspection. “It keeps me sane, brother. I have found that madness is the vilest thing. Pain is not too great a price to pay if it brings me sanity”

“But…” Tyelko cursed and began again. “I cannot agree with you on that.”

“We are at discord then?” Maitimo’s voice was cold and held no measure of kinship. “So be it. There may come a day when you are spurned even as you spurned me now.”

“No, there will be no such day. I love, and am loved. My love is hallowed by the song of Iluvatar, unlike yours.”

Maitimo did not reply. I heard the sound of his robes moving over the grass as he retreated to his tent. I did not betray that I was awake even when Tyelko pressed a soft kiss to my earlobe.

 

Himlad,

The Present.

 

The day dawned bright and warm. It reflected my temperament. I had come to a decision regarding my future. 

“How fare you, Mother?” Lómion’s voice was brimming with agitated concern when he entered my chamber. “I am sorry that your cousin did not listen to my plea yesterday. He insisted upon seeing you despite my worry on the matter.”

“He was always obstinate,” I remarked. 

Then I sighed. 

“Lord Atarinkë mentioned that his brother is orthodox in his beliefs…” Lómion hesitated. “From what you told me of your past, I could understand that he had strong convictions. I am concerned about that. Also, when I had the chance to speak with him yesterday night, I fear that he does not think well of us. Perhaps he needs time. Lord Atarinkë says that it is merely a question of time.” 

“I doubt it,” I said quietly. “He shall accept me, Lómion. He loves me deeply. But he will never stop accusing me of betrayal.”

“Betrayal!” Lómion exclaimed. “Whose fault was it that you were lost in those forsaken woods? Whose fault was it that he did not have the daring to search for you? Whose fault is it that his mind is inconceivably narrow?”

My father had always told me that Tyelko’s assets did not include a fine mind. Now my son was telling me the same.

“That was my fault. I was reckless,” I sighed. Lómion did not reply. Looking upon his handsome, disturbed features I knew what my decision should be. “We shall join my brother in the hidden city, Lómion.”

“Will he spurn you?” Lómion asked, looking weary and sad. “I will take you to a place away from your kin, mother. We can live to our heart’s content and yet spare you grief.”

“Turkáno will not spurn me.” Nobody among my kin except for Tyelko would spurn me. It was ironic that I had fallen in love with the shallowest person I knew.

 

Atarinkë did not oppose my decision. He embraced Lómion and told him that kinship would be always ours to call upon in times of need. As we rode away to the south, I saw a lonely figure by the brook that marked the boundary of Himlad.

Maitimo’s cursed foresight had come true. I was spurning Tyelko even as he had once spurned his brother, even as he had spurned me long ago when he accused my father of seducing Fëanáro. That my cousin deserved to be spurned did not offer comfort. I bled within. 

I knew that my regard for him would never lessen. I knew that I would not enter a carnal relationship with anyone again. My age of gold had been with Tyelko. It was in the past and it was time to move on. Some things cannot be renewed.

Turkáno received me with awe and relief, for he had long given up hope. Itarillë had grown into a fine, young lady. She doted on my son, who was still in that appealing, insecure age between childhood and maturity.

Glorfindel and I renewed our friendship of old. He did not ask about Tyelko. I did not ask him about his past. But one day, as we walked in the gardens of the King, we chanced upon the children playing. My son was keenly absorbed by the game. But his cousin was staring at him most intently, her eyes giving away her thoughts. 

“I see an attachment,” Glorfindel said, in his plain, blunt manner. 

“So do I,” I murmured, frightened for the children. “I don’t approve.” Tyelko and I had been cousins. It had got us nowhere. 

“They are wise and gentle.” Did Glorfindel mean to imply that Tyelko and I had not been either? 

“It is terrible,” I spoke. “Turkáno will not even allow them to dream of such an idea! And it is one-sided, I can see. I fear for her.” 

“There is in the worst of fortune the best of chances for happiness,” Glorfindel offered gently. “You see fear where there is no cause to.”

“What do you counsel?” 

“Let them have their age of gold, lady. Let them love and revel in their love. We shall think of the obstacles when they arise.”

So we watched them play, the lad chaste of thought and the maid nervously skirting the line between desire and friendship. The sun shone down upon them, haloing their young forms with an aura of peace and quiet happiness.

She began to sing the verses her mother had taught her a lifetime ago.

“In the age of gold, youth and maiden bright,  
Naked in the golden beams delight.”

 

Glorfindel smiled and walked away from the achingly beautiful scene. My son laughed and accepted his cousin’s kiss to his forehead before he continued the song in hauntingly melodious tones.

 

“Once a youthful pair, filled with softest care,  
Met in garden bright, where the golden light,  
Had just removed the curtains of the night.”

 

They were regarding each other, such deep emotion in their eyes. It was pure and it was hallowed. I clasped my hands and turned away. 

Tyelko and I had played on the wild grasslands of Valinor. We had found ourselves alone without chaperones one fine day. Everything changed suddenly when my lips sought his without consent or explanation and after that day, we were no longer merely cousins who played without a care in the world.

The young voices rose in accord as I lost myself to thoughts.

"Then, in rising day, on the grass they play;  
Parents were afar, strangers came not near.  
They knew love and they made gay,  
They pledged bonds and knew no fear."

 

Bonds pledged in the light of Laurelin had not saved us. Would vows made under the sunlight save my son and my niece?

“Irissë!” It was my brother.

I turned back once to etch in my mind the golden sight of the two playmates rejoicing in their youth and innocence before I joined Turkáno.

“What is it?”

“The Dark Elf has come to claim his own.”

I would never give in to the dark lure of silver cages and twilight again. I glanced up at the sun. It reminded me of my fallen uncle, of my father, of my eldest cousin, of my son and of Artanis. If they had conquered their fears, so would I. 

My voice did not falter in the least when I met my brother’s worried gaze and spoke calmly.

“Take me to him.”

 

xxxFINISxxx

* * *


End file.
